


Lethal

by eastwinds



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastwinds/pseuds/eastwinds
Summary: Sebastian's destruction started at the exact moment he entered Moriarty's games.





	Lethal

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the works I'm really proud of. Hope you all enjoy xx

Jim Moriarty was not a man. He was much more than that - hiss essence was beyond the mere notion of body; he was not restricted to this, to being just another member of the overrated human race. Some people would say he was a viper: instinctive, dangerous, lethal. Sherlock Holmes had already classified him, in court, as a spider with full control over each of the strands of its web. Sebastian Moran, on the other hand, would never even dare to label him. It was something of the things that just could not be done. He was what he was - intriguing, mysterious, bold, indecipherable, incomparable. Unpredictable. Unlike anything he had ever seen and experienced. And that meant a lot, since Moran had experienced much more than any ordinary person could dream of. That's what caught his attention at first. That quite eerily smile, those lifeless eyes, the posture of someone who had power over all the rules of the game he was playing and would use them in his favor without any hesitation. James Moriarty was the only man - no, not man, he was not limited to being a man - the only being who could make Sebastian Moran feel something next to fear. Not that he did, of course, but the ability that he had to make him feel anything (something he imagined not being able to do, since he always considered himself someone without emotions, just rationality and instinct) was what attracted him, first of all. It was so terribly exciting. All in Jim smelled like danger, and he loved it.

Sebastian became Jim's right hand surprisingly quick. At first he was just one of his men, not really relevant to his spider web. He was just a very good sniper, really helpful. Always ready to act when it was needed. The tasks he was given were rarely clear. He was called for isolated works that were part of something bigger, but he could never figure out what it was. Perhaps no one knew except for Jim. Then things got more intense. He started to be called for work more often, almost always to ensure that the head back entire home. Moriarty needed some personal safety and Seb was just perfect for the position.   
He could not say when, or how, he came to start attending the luxurious apartment Moriarty had, more than he attended his own home. When he finally stopped to think about, he was much more than the consultant’s favorite sniper. They were more than criminals colleagues. They were more than lovers. It was all... complicated. There was not a word that could explain their relationship. No one could describe what exactly they were, and Sebastian did not think that one day someone would be able to do so.  
The way Jim was able to manage everything with wit and perfection still made him feel impressed, even after all that time. That man was above everything, including the good and evil. He was a fine line between the two, the chaos that plagued both sides. He was bold, confident, sharp. It was never possible to know what was going through his head - his brain was something to be studied, but Moran doubted even geniuses could comprehend it. Jim had always said that emotions were overrated, anyway. Moriarty was an enigma. A puzzle that only became more complicated after each passing second by his side. And he had never dreamt, not even for a moment, that one day he would be able to figure out how to solve it.

And lately all he could think about was his dead and bloodied body in his arms, at that damned roof. The people screaming desperatedly down there around Holmes’ fallen body. He had reached the top of the building shortly after, using the stairs when no one was paying attention. For some reason, the street was closed. He did not even bother to look at the hysteria around the detective's corpse. Just followed up, to who really mattered. And to whom nobody was paying due attention.

The memories of Jim always came up at the worst times. In countless and frequent bad days or during Seb’s sleep, waking him up. Always a dozen of those idiots memories that hurt as painfully as the shots from his own rifles did. Only fragments of memories of Jim talking nonstop and not letting him sleep through the night. Jim being annoyed by Sebastian because the sniper used to knead his always impeccable Armani suit, or when he was dressed in "too common" clothes. Jim, waking up during the night and calling him "Tiger", "my sniper" or simply "Seb" with his low, feline voice. Jim’s fierce lips on his body. Him asleep in his arms as Sebastian carefully transferred him from the couch to the bed, trying not to break his light sleep. When the two met for nothing more than to drink whiskey, and how often they ended up in bed after that. When the two of them were feared by everyone and they had the world at their feet.

"- Life is boring. - He said, turning his head slowly and making his neck snap, with his dead eyes fixed on nothing. The soft voice, feline, spoke in a low tone as he was fflirting. He paused for a while. - And yet, so incredibly short.

\- Just like you. So short. - Sebastian opened a small smile, one of the rare times he dared to make fun of Jim out loud. In most cases only amused your way, like putting his favorite tea or even his gun in slightly too high shelves so he could not reach them. Sometimes he changed the place of the shampoos and placed them somewhere high so that Jim could not reach it because of his absurdly short height - it was the perfect excuse to join him during showers. Not that he needed an excuse, but it was fun to tease him. - Except you’re the complete opposite of boring.

He just smiled. Not one of his dead smiles - his eyes brightened up for a moment, at least Sebastian thought he saw a spark on them. Then he rose from his chair and walked over to Sebastian, sitting on his lap, pulling his tie firmly with one hand and clutching his mouth with the other one.

\- Be careful. - He stopped smiling and a spark ran through his eyes. - Many men have died for much less.  
You wouldn’t kill me, Jim. - He replied calmly, but the doubt about his words came soon and started annoying his mind. With Moriaty, he was never sure of anything. The man was capable of the impossible. - Would you?

\- Who knows? Dead is the new sexy. - He whispered, with a very audible boldness in her soft voice and with his usual cheeky smile. Then he buried his face in Sebastian’s neck, savagely. -. But maybe... you are sexy enough.

"The last great memory he had of him was ironically also the most painful. He cursed it every time it came to his mind, though it wouldn’t help. Nothing would.

"- Boss. - He said. The entire morning he had been waiting to talk to him, but now he was here Moriarty looked ready to leave. He was standing by the door, wearing one of his Armani suits, in all his glory. - Who?

But he knew the answer. He already knew that damn answer. It was Sherlock Holmes. From the beginning, it was always about Sherlock Holmes. Each case that the crime consultant had accepted had the subtle aim to challenge him, the world’s greatest detective. And he felt that this meeting in particular would be the final meeting of both of them. But nothing could stop Jim. Sebastian could have escorted him, of course. Could have ensured that he was safe. But his own safety was not in Jim’s list of most important things. Moran could protect Moriarty from almost everything - except from the Moriarty himself. And nothing would stop him until one of the them, him or Sherlock - or even both - were dead. 

\- Sherlock Holmes. - He said, answering Sebastian’s question and giving voice to his thoughts. He gave him a little lethal look before crossing the door and turning his back. - I owe him a fall.

He remained silent as he replayed in his mind all the orders he received in the previous day. "I want you to keep John Watson on your target." Jim asked. Sebastian knew other of Moriarty's men were behind Inspector Greg Lestrade and Holmes’ landlady, as well as all the other few people the detective cared about. But he did not understand why he was chosen for the task too, instead of simply protecting him as he always did. When he asked, Jim simply replied, "The best of my men against his one."

 

Moran knew that nothing could have stopped Jim of doing what he had done. But he could not help but thinking he should have followed him, should have loaded his damn rifle and ran to that roof, that he should have blown Sherlock Holmes’ brain, even if it meant his own death. Of all the lives taken by Sebastian, the one that really weighed on his conscience was Moriarty’s one.

He wouldn’t commit suicide, though. The Colonel would not take his own life because of it. Not with a shot in his chest, at least. He’d never say that out loud or let another man on earth notice it, not even Jim, but he was too coward for that. He was too guilty and a guilty man would never use an easy way out. Because, anyway, his self-destruction process had already begun when he entered Jim Moriarty’s game. And now the memories he had of Jim’s brain coming out of his head and all the Napoleon of Crime’s blood scattered all over the floor of that building would gradually poison him to the point where the pain became unbearable and began to choke. The pain would consume him day and night like a worm in his head, being fed by his bad memories. The fault was entirely his. It was his duty to protect him. To put a bullet inside anyone who crossed his path. And he had miserably failed. It was his last and greatest task. The only task that really mattered. And he had failed.  
A tiny part of him was still struggling, still refusing to believe that Moriarty was, in fact, dead. That all of that wasn’t just a trick and that he wouldn’t receive a call, when he least expected, and hear that feline voice asking “Did you miss me?” through the phone. That tiny, stupid and miserable part of him still had hope, and that hope was killing faster than the everything else.  
His voice still echoed in his head. "They hate us, the ordinary people. But they will never forget our names. " No, they wouldn’t. That was Sebastian’s last promise, and he would keep it no matter what happened. For a long time, everyone would remember James Moriarty. He would make sure. Meanwhile, he would wait. He was very good in that, waiting. He could be a very patient man if he wanted to. Wait until that flood of memories, good and bad; nightmares and fragments of memory surrounded him until he suffocated. Until he was taken to burn in hell. Along with Jim. After all he had lived, it seemed decent. A final fitting for a man who failed to fulfill his role.


End file.
